


Cubs

by mistressterably



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:46:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5398196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistressterably/pseuds/mistressterably
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm and Jamie are young journalists trying to make a name for themselves but it's not the easiest of starts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cubs

‘You are one seriously fucked up mess.’ Jamie shook his head at the state of the room. The place was littered with empty whisky bottles. Mostly cheap whisky. 

‘Yeah. Feeling that love again. Thanks, mate.’ Malcolm blinked blearily at his flatmate.’Thought you were gone til next week. Why you back already?’

‘Because it’s fucking next week already.’ Jamie kicked a bottle out of the way. ‘You said you weren’t going to drink while I was gone. Just fucking write the copy for the local crime pages, that was all you’d do.’

Malcolm ran his hands through his hair, catching on some matted tangles. He tugged them free, wincing at the pain of pulled hair. When he scratched at his chin, he could feel the rough growth of a beard. 

‘Sweet christ, Malcolm.’ Jamie found a letter on the table. ‘You couldn’t even attend the office to be fucking dismissed! They sent you a fucking letter!’ 

‘Oh, right.’ Malcolm belched loudly and then tottered off to the lav. There, Jamie could hear his friend vomiting. 

Grabbing a bin liner, Jamie began to collect the empty bottles up. He found the other letter from the landlord demanding the rent by the end of the week or else they would be facing eviction. All he could do was sigh. Somehow he was going to have to find a way to sober Malcolm up and keep him sober or else they’d have to move town again. 

Malcolm emerged from the lav and made his way to the sofa, sprawling on it. 

‘Can’t fucking keep doing this, Malc.’ Jamie said, continuing the clean up. ‘Why’d you start drinking again? Thought you had promised to stay dry.’

‘The editor is a fucking ponce. I wanted to write up a story on the council and he wouldn’t even fucking read it. How we going to get to write leads when they won’t even read our drafts!’

‘Malc, we have to write the shit they want us to write and then when they want to read our drafts and decide to publish them then we go up the ladder. Getting pissy on them and getting fired is not the way to do it! This is the third city we’ve gotten jobs at that we’ve lost because you lose your shit!’

Malcolm sighed, his hands hanging in dejection like his head. ‘I’m sorry Jamie. I’ll get another job.’

‘Where you going to get another job here? There’s only the two papers and you got fired from one. The other rag is going to already know why you got fired and they won’t touch you no matter how fucking good you are at writing.’  
Malcolm began to cry, regretting what he had done.

‘Ah, stop that, Malc. Crying won’t do a fucking thing. You gotta stay off the whisky and stay dry and not get fired again!’

‘Aye, that I do.’ Malcolm said, sniffling loudly. ‘I’ve let you down again, mate.’

Jamie couldn’t stay mad at Malcolm. Leaving off picking up the empty bottles, Jamie sat beside his long time friend. ‘Look, Malc. It’s not the end of the fucking world. How about we head down to fucking London. There’s a lot more papers there and with so many rags and writers making bold moves are probably the way to go.’ 

‘Fuck, London?’ Malcolm glanced sideways at Jamie. ‘Maybe we should head to Edinburgh.’

‘Fuck Scotland, it’s great for whisky but the fucking papers are so fucking locked in to the old cliques we’ll never get our young punk asses in. We go to London and make our name there.’ Jamie smiled, his hand squeezing his friend’s knee.

And that’s how the two friends wound up with all their possessions loaded into Jamie’s beat up car and, using what would have been their rent money, drove the over 7 hours south and arrived in London. They found a cheap small flat that they could cover for one month’s rent. 

‘There’s only one fucking bed.’ Malcolm said as they finally got possession of the flat. 

‘The bed’s big enough.’ Jamie noted. ‘We’ve shared smaller. At least this one has a fucking toilet. And it’s a manageable walk to the news district.’

Malcolm went into the small kitchenette, he fired up the gas hotplate and lit up one of his last few fags. Blowing out a cloud of smoke, Malcolm used the heel of his shoe to squash a bug. ‘How fucking long do you think we’ll be here?’

‘If you can keep fucking clean and stay fucking employed we can get out of here sooner.’ Jamie said, not holding any punches. ‘Malc, can you do that?’

‘Yeah, I can fucking stay clean.’ Malcolm promised his friend. 

‘Hope so.’ Jamie said. ‘Let’s get the bags inside.’

Jamie got a job easily, he started off as a cub reporter. It was down a notch but it was a job and he was confident that it wouldn’t be long before he’d work up to actually writing proper articles. It was also paying enough to keep them in rent. Malcolm, however, was having a tougher time finding a job. He was rougher around the edges than Jamie and the few ads he’d answered so far had been simply submit examples and they’d call him back.   
Malcolm had his feet up on the tatty sofa they’d found in the flat while Jamie sat at the small table. ‘Why don’t they fucking call me? There’s no difference between how you write and I write!’

‘This isn’t fucking Scotland, Malc. Smarten yourself up! I can front you a few quid for a tie.’ Jamie offered.

‘I’ve got a tie. And i’ve been wearing it when I go to the interviews.’ Malcolm picked at a small tear in the sofa, unravelling more threads. 

‘Then get a fucking haircut and shave properly.’

‘Didn’t have to before.’

‘I know you want to keep your fucking curls, Malc, but if we’re going to get out of the slums you’ve got to get a job. You want to keep sharing a single bed?’

‘I don’t want to cut my hair.’ Malcolm whined a little. 

‘Get the fuck over here, Malc.’ Jamie got up. Malcolm resisted. ‘Up, you fucking arse, now. I’m going to cut your fucking hair.’

‘Jamie! No!’ Malcolm protested but his friend was grabbing him by the arm and sitting him on the chair. ‘Be gentle. Please?’

Jamie found the sharp scissors. ‘C’mon, Malc. You trust me don’t you?’

‘Of course I fucking trust you. Just wish I didn’t have to cut my hair.’

‘It’ll grow back, Malc.’ Jamie had to really resist the urge to run his fingers through Malcolm’s long curly hair. The thought of what Malcolm would do or say if he knew his flatmate had a serious crush on the slightly older man. Quashing his lust once more, Jamie set to trimming the curls off until, with a soft brushing of the hair clippings from Malcolm’s face, the job was done. 

‘Ah, fuck it, mate. I look like my fucking old man.’ Malcolm was trying to run his hand through his short hair.

‘You look like a hot.. ah… professional.’ Jamie caught himself and breathed in quickly, hoping Malcolm didn’t hear him. All Malcolm did was keep playing with his hair. ‘You’ll get hired quick now I’m sure.’

After a further 2 days with no job, Malcolm had snuck a bottle of whisky into the flat and was drinking directly from the bottle off and on through the day until Jamie got home from a long day. It had been enough to make him fall asleep on the sofa, the bottle beside him on the floor.   
‘Malcolm!’ Jamie had got home to the flat and found him passed out. 

‘Wha?’ Malcolm woke up.

‘You promised! No fucking whisky.’ Jamie held the bottle in his hand, shaking it angrily at his friend. 

‘I’m sorry, Jamie, it’s so fucking hard!’ Malcolm sat up.

‘You’re too fucking impatient! Why I don’t fucking move on and forget you…’ Jamie began to say and cut himself off. 

‘I’m fucking trying, Jamie! I went to four different dailies and got nothing!’ Malcolm held out his hands, palms up, empty. 

‘We don’t have the fucking money to keep you sloshed!’ Jamie said. ‘What else can I do, Malc? I can’t fucking think what else I can do to help you!’

‘I’m a fucking waste of time, Jamie.’ Malcolm slumped forward, head hanging. Jamie’s heart began to break. 

Sitting heavily on the sofa beside his friend, Jamie handed him the near empty bottle. ‘Finish it. If you bring another bottle in the flat, I’ll have to leave you on your own. I’m not funding you destroying your liver.’ At least for the moment, as the alcohol hit Malcolm’s brain he was happy. It bothered Jamie when Malcolm found his only happiness in the bottle. 

After he emptied the bottle, Malcolm made to sit back and he found Jamie’s arm around him. His brain was too musty from the alcohol so he went with it. ‘Aye, Jamie. No more whisky.’ 

It didn’t take long for Malcolm to fall asleep with Jamie’s arm still draped around his shoulders. With his friend out of it, Jamie could let himself relax a bit. No surprise then when Jamie was able to get Malcolm to his feet and into the small bed without completely waking him up. Jamie slipped into the bed with Malcolm, curling up close to his friend. He chanced a kiss on Malcolm’s shoulder. ‘Patience, Malcolm.’ Jamie whispered. ‘Be patient.’

When Malcolm woke in the morning, he didn’t pay any mind to Jamie’s arm wrapped around him. He was used to it now. They were sharing a single bed after all. A look in the bathroom mirror reminded him of the haircut. Deciding to make a start, Malcolm headed out early to continue to the job search. Jamie made it through his day and got back home with his pay in his pocket. Malcolm was sitting on the sofa, feet up , reading a paper he’d found for free. 

‘Got paid today, Malc.’ Jamie announced. ‘Brought home some grub.’

‘Yeah? What’d you get?’

‘Spaghetti.’ Jamie said, already getting a saucepan out of the cupboard. ‘Easy to save the leftovers for later on.’

With a proper, hot meal for a change, the two young men scoured the paper Malcolm had brought home. ‘You see this, Malc?’ Jamie held out one of the ad pages. ‘Junior editor. You should try it.’

‘Don’t want to fucking edit. I want to fucking write!’

‘You need a fucking job. Start with that and then you’ve got your foot in the door.’ Jamie said, annoyed at his friend’s stubbornness. ‘Look, it won’t hurt to try for it will it?’

‘Fine, I’ll try for it.’ Malcolm snatced the ad from Jamie. ‘I’m going to bed.’

‘Malc,’ Jamie watched him disappear into the small bedroom. ‘Fuck.’ 

Next day, Jamie was leaving for work and went to get some money from his pay to cover himself for the day. Looking at the small pile of notes, Jamie noticed a 10 quid note was missing. ‘Fuck, Malc.’ He grimaced. Another fucking conversation he’d have to have with his friend. 

Malcolm had been heading back to the flat, his mood high. He had got the position and started at the paper as a junior editor on the following Monday. Instead of paying to ride the tube, he walked instead. At the local shop, he used the last of the money he had borrowed from Jamie to buy two bottles of whisky. There was still some spaghetti in the icebox he could eat. 

Sat on the sofa, he put the cheap radio they had bought at a boot sale on and was soon working his way through the first bottle. Polishing it off, Malcolm’s mood went from happy to enthusiastic. He ate the rest of the cold spaghetti and went back to drinking. 

Jamie got home, his fury having built up through the day. To come home and find Malcolm piss drunk and the empty bowl that had held the leftovers, it pushed Jamie over the edge. ‘You fucking bastard!’ 

Malcolm opened his eyes a crack at the noise. ‘Jamie, hey, mate.’

‘You fucking steal money, you go and get more fucking booze and you eat the rest of the food!’

‘It’s okay, mate.. it’s okay!” Malcolm mumbled.

‘Okay? How the fuck is any of this okay? You bastard!’ Jamie raised a hand, ready to slap Malcolm into some sense. ‘You fucking promised me no more booze!’

‘I’ll pay ya back, don’t worry.’ Malcolm said, grinning at Jamie but he was met with his friend’s absolute fury.

‘Enough! E’fucking’nough!’ Jamie didn’t care. Malcolm had crossed the last line. ‘I’ve supported you. Fed you! Did every fucking thing I could for you! And then you fucking top it off by stealing my money!’

‘Jamie, mate, listen.’ Malcolm, words slurred from the whisky, tried to get his friend’s attention but he failed.

‘No. No more of your fucking excuses and whining and begging. I’m done. The rent’s paid to end of the month. I’m out.’ Jamie wouldn’t listen to Malcolm’s begging. ‘Fucking stop! I can’t take it, Malc!’

‘What’s fucking up your nose, mate?’ Malcolm was having a hard time following Jamie.

‘Why’d you steal from me?’ Jamie was gripping Malcolm’s shirt, shaking him. ‘For fucking booze! You promised me!’

‘I just borrowed it.’ Malcolm stated, as if that would cover it.

‘No, you stole it! Borrowing means you fucking ask first! I would have loaned it to you!’ Jamie was beyond fury now, his heart broken from disappointment. 

‘I couldn’t ask…’ Malcolm began.

‘Course you couldn’t! Because if you were honest about asking me for the money you’d be telling me it was for booze and you’d have me fucking flipping out on you!’ Jamie yelled at him. 

‘I didn’t mean to buy the booze! I was just going to use it to get the tube and maybe a bite to eat while I was out looking for a job.’ Malcolm defended himself. 

Jamie closed his eyes, fighting back his disappointment and his tears. He had threatened Malcolm what would happen and he knew he had to go through with it. It was going to kill him but he had to do it. Without another word, Jamie turned to go to the bedroom and grabbed one of the large bags they’d used to bring their things down from the north. 

‘Jamie?’ Malcolm made to follow him but could only stand at the doorway. ‘What ya doing, mate?’

‘I told you, Malc. I can’t keep doing this. I’m gone.’ Jamie began to pack his things. He could go and stay at a hostel nearer his office and then sort out a flat on his own. 

‘No, you can’t fucking do this, Jamie! Not fucking now! Don’t fucking leave me alone!’ Malcolm was in the room now, trying to pull the quickly filling bag away from his friend. 

Jamie pulled the bag back out of Malcolm’s hands, easy with his friend half drunk. ‘No! E-fucking-nough! I’ve given you chance after fucking chance. I’ve moved from city to city to help you! Left how many fucking great jobs to bail your fucking arse out! I’m not doing it anymore.’

‘But, Jamie..’ Malcolm tried again but Jamie, despite his heart breaking, didn’t give in this time. The last of his clothes were jammed into the bag and he began to shove his other things into a second bag. 

‘Don’t, mate. Just fucking don’t.’ Jamie told him off. ‘I’m not gonna listen to your whining and begging. You can’t fucking keep a promise.’

‘Look, I’m fucking sorry, mate. I won’t steal from you again. I promise. I won’t..’ 

‘No, you fucking won’t because I won’t be here with you!’ Jamie closed up the second bag and had both in his hands, leaving the room. Jamie couldn’t stop the tears tracing down his cheeks as he paused at the door. ‘Malcolm, just.. just fucking clean yourself up, okay, mate? You can fucking do anything you want but you have to stop fucking drinking!’

‘C’mon, Jamie. Don’t fucking leave.’ Malcolm begged a last time.

‘You don’t fucking get it, do you, Malc?’ Jamie looked at his friend. ‘You’re begging me to stay now after you’ve spent so fucking long making promises to me but breaking them over and over again. And every single fucking time you broke a promise to me you broke my fucking heart. Well, you finally broke the last piece and now I’m fucking gone.’ Jamie turned and left, bags in hand. 

Malcolm just stood there, watching Jamie leave as his brain cleared itself from the alcohol. ‘I never meant to break your heart, Jamie.’ His voice cracked in the silent room. ‘I’ll clean myself up. I swear! This time I won’t break my promise! Then you’ll come back.’


End file.
